King of Rats
by McStaken
Summary: In Gotham, it pays to be more discerning of your jobs. Especially if you're infringing on The Ratcatcher's territory.


Jerry Andrews stared at the vacant lot almost seething with money. Well, not quite money - he was a ratcatcher by trade - the little man. What it was seething with was rats - packs of them. Brazen too- they really didn't care that he was there. Even the sounds of his van had done little to scare the stupid little scurriers.

The Narrows wasn't his usual patch - but he was happy to take on the work anyway. The residents had grown impatient with their ratcatcher and called him in to clear up the vermin. He was happy to infringe on a colleague's territory - money was money. More fool him for letting Jerry undercut him.

He didn't know why the tenants of the block of flats next door were bothering to complain - in a few month this whole area would be filled with psychopaths and crazies - the government was already buying up swathes of land for that super prison. Then again, a flat next to a vacant rat-infested lot would not go for the same price as a flat beside an investment opportunity.

Jerry nodded to himself. Yeah it always came back to money.

The lot where the complaints were coming from was overgrown with weeds and overrun with rats. Big plump things - running from hole to hole. Jerry considered how many there were - possibly as many as two or three dozen - he'd never seen more than fifty in any given point.

This would require a lot of poison. No wonder the residents were complaining. The rats were as big as terriers!

Now that he'd espied the situation, he hefted his bulk over to his garishly luminous orange Rento-Kill van and opened the back. Like a hero bent on saving the day, he loaded his pressure sprayer with pesticide and an antibacterial that would eliminate all the diseases the filthy vermin had brought with them. It would sicken the grass too - turn it yellow and rot it from the roots but it was a small price to pay. His bag and pockets were filled with bright packets of blue pellets. Industrial bite-proof gloves were donned with almost the same ceremony as a knight's armour.

The final touch was a gas mask to protect him from the fumes. He slipped it over his head like a jouster preparing for a bout.

Jerry Andrews was ready for war.

He found a handy stick about the right length to help him push the pellet packets so far down their little tunnels that they'd stick. The genius of this was that to get out - the rats would have to chew their way through the poison. They'd be dead before they even reached daylight.

Jerry moved through the lot carefully - ratcatching wasn't a very demanding job. Candidates were more prized on their methodical manner and lack of imagination, it wasn't hard to outsmart rats if you know what you were looking for.

He'd covered most of the lot and was sweating profusely in the thick nylon jumpsuit under the paper boiler suit when he saw the figure watching him from the edge of the lot.

The onlooker was wearing overalls and an old fashioned gas mask but he carried the pressure sprayer, heavy gloves and boots of a ratcatcher.

That must be the chump that he'd taken this job from.

Warily, Jerry reached out and grabbed a rusted spade from the crumbling fence. It wouldn't be the first time someone had come to air their grievances about being undercut from a steady job and this guy looked as though he worked out - seriously worked out. Dirty muscles gleamed under the denim overalls.

Jerry hadn't worked out since high school.

'Hey, I wouldn't stand too close, man. These rats are so big they'd probably try to take a chunk out of you.' He warned and hoped that the spade and warning would keep him the hell away from Jerry's payday.

The rival exterminator looked up at him and cocked his head but said little else. Not for the first time, Jerry considered how creepy he looked in that old leather respirator. He couldn't see his face like you could with the modern masks designed to show the full face - the old fashioned one only allowed him to see the man's eyes behind thick lenses of glass.

'Gonna be a good payday for me,' He remarked and turned the old spade threateningly. 'So why don't you go find somewhere else, huh?'

The threat did little for the intruder - he hadn't moved a muscle.

'Look it's not _my_ fault that they don't think you did a good enough job.' Jerry attempted but that too was met with silence. 'Psh, whatever.'

Well if the guy had wanted the money from this job, he'd have come marching over and taken it out of Jerry's face. There was no problem with him just watching as long as he stayed over there.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jerry caught sight of a sluggish rat that had staggered out of it's hole. He smirked triumphantly. Poison will win - every time.

He hefted the rusted but still quite sharp spade and brought it down on the rat. It made a terrible squeak as the metal sliced it in half.

One down - a few dozen to go.

He turned back to and noticed that his intruding rival had reacted. The man had visibly flinched as Jerry had cut that rat. recoiled as though disgusted. From what Jerry could see of his eyes - the man was angry.

Another scurried by, hampered by the poison in it's blood and Andrews struck again. With one swift _**CHOP **_the rat's head rolled away.

When he looked up - the guy was gone.

Huh, good riddance. He could get back to making easy money.

As he went about distributing more packets of instant death, Jerry felt pleased to have protected his newest money-mill. Until he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He turned, only to be faced with his silent watcher from earlier. There was a liquid slosh as he realised he'd gone to fill his pressure sprayer.

Jerry brought up the bloody spade again in warning. 'Now don't make me use this-'

He was drowned out by a spray of chemicals that drenched him from the face down.

'Are you _crazy?!_' Jerry demanded as he dropped the spade and started stripping his gloves and boiler suit.

What kind of crazy asshole sprays a guy in the face with chemicals? Over a job?

He lifted an arm to smell the stuff he'd been sprayed with as he fumbled for his phone to call an ambulance. 'What is this stuff?!' He demanded.

The other ratcatcher shook his head and began spraying the ground.

'I said what the hell is this stuff you crazy asshole!'

'Pheromones.'

Pheromones? Not chemicals or acid or anything like that? His face wasn't going to suddenly melt off? Jerry grit his teeth in anger and grabbed the muscled freak by the front of his overalls. He reared back a fist, ready to deliver some revenge for that scare when he became aware of the sea of hissing - the whole ground was boiling with rats.

'Uh...Nice...rats?'

He let go of the crazy guy in the overalls and took an exaggerated step back. Despite the fact he couldn't see the guy's face, he radiated a smug air.

'Nice try,' He grunted. 'But they still remember you killed two of their brethren. '

'What?' Jerry hissed as the tide moved closer. He gave the sea of fur a terrified stare, and then looked back at the guy in the mask. 'Look I was just doing my job, it's not my fault they wanted someone better-'

As the boiling tide overtook him, Jerry's screams were muffled under a sea of fur and squeaking.

When the tide dispersed, Jerry was nowhere to be found.

'I always thought I did a good job.' Otis Flannegan replied to no-one in particular as he bent down to scoop up the remains of the bisected rat.

* * *

A/N: I'm pretty sure that this is not a canon way that Ratcatcher kills people but this is my preferred way. I'm sure you can all see why. Sorry Jerry.


End file.
